ABCD is 8, almost, almost 9. "You might as well call me 9, since I ALMOST am." He can ride a bike, swim like a fish (learning butterfly stroke), and do so many, many things all by himself. ALMOST like he doesn't need a Mom hovering around every second of his waking hours. Hmmm. He makes oatmeal better than his Dad, and scrambled eggs, toast, pancakes, sandwiches (though he likes spreads to be even and neat and doesn't like to do those by himself). Coffee he can do all by himself, whether in the automatic pot we only rarely have hooked up or in the stovetop espresso maker we usually use. He loves helping with interesting chores, like loose doorknobs and handles, changing lightbulbs, watering plants, starting loads of laundry and vacuuming. Not so much unloading the dishwasher (except at church, where he is the universally recognized capital "D" Dishwasher, much to the delight of everyone, including ABCD himself) or putting clothes away, making beds or emptying the hamper. He's started learning to play the guitar, and played Jingle Bells in a duet at Christmas with this Grandma Betsy. His grownup teeth are coming in and baby teeth finally coming out, slowly but surely. He's a great reader and devours books at a phenomonal pace. His humor, when it veers away from the usual 8 year old boy potty humor is sly and subtle, and his sensitivity is deep and lovely. He is independent, curious, sometimes too teenagerish, well endowed with his parents' stubborness and a gift of reason, logic, and the intense desire to never let anything go until it is resolved, preferably in his favor.
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